


Swing Around Later

by RennyO



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Drug Use, Foster Care, Modern Era, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RennyO/pseuds/RennyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern/High School AU.<br/>Bucky runs away from home in high school. Starts in high school and then skips to a few years later. Bucky ends up on the streets and is rescued by a familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swing Around Later

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first longgggggg fic. This is the first chapter of many (totally have no clue of how many yet). I have no beta, so all of my mistakes are my own, and I am super busy, so updates are practically nonexistent.

“Barnes! Wait up!” Steve runs as fast as he can out of his science class.  
Bucky has English for his last period and always beelines it out of ‘that torture place’ as he refers to it. Steve slows down to a jog and starts wheezing. Bucky’s head swivels around as he hears the familiar signs of an asthma attack. Bucky sprints from the front of the school, down the hall to Steve. Steve fumbles around for his inhaler in his backpack, but Bucky pushes his hands out of the way and grabs it for him, shaking it quickly before handing it to Steve. While Steve breathes in his medication, his friend picks up his bag, slinging it easily over his shoulder. 

“Thanks,” Steve mutters sheepishly, stuffing his inhaler in his pocket.  
“You’ve been out of class for about 20 seconds and you’ve almost died already. You really need a personal doctor waiting on you,” Bucky teases, grinning at Steve.  
“That’s why I have you,” Steve replies looking up at him.  
Bucky cuffs him on the ear and slings his arm around Steve’s shoulder. While they walk to Bucky’s beat up jeep, Steve asks, “You coming over? I know you’re failing English and I’m a free tutor.”  
Bucky shrugs, “I have an appointment with the social worker.”  
Seeing Steve’s stricken expression, he hurries to explain, “Just a regular, monthly check-up. They want to make sure I’m ‘well-adjusted’,” he finishes sarcastically.

Steve relaxes a fraction; he knew Bucky lived in a foster home after his mother (a Russian immigrant) died.  
Bucky wrenches the rusty car door open for Steve before running around the front to get into the driver’s seat. He throws their backpacks in the back of the jeep, and prays the engine still works. His car isn’t exactly well-known for being the most reliable. Luckily, it rumbles to life, and he puts it in gear, pulling out onto the street. 

“I’ll drop you off and maybe swing around later,” Bucky adds.  
Steve’s face lights up.  
“Sweet. My mom’s shift ends early, and she has this obsession with feeding you, so you can totally come over,” Steve pauses, “I mean only if you want to,” he rushes out, blushing.  
“Sure, dork,” Bucky shrugs, smiling.  
“Punk,” Steve shoots back.  
The rest of the drive to Steve’s house is filled with conversation on weekend plans and random news on their fellow students. Soon, Bucky pulls into the driveway of Steve’s small house.  
“You sure you don’t have time to come in?” Steve asks, hovering on the edge of his seat.  
“Yeah,” Bucky winces, “Sorry. See you for dinner, hopefully. Natasha may force me to go to yet another ballet. I still don’t understand why she only makes me go to them, and not you.”  
Steve laughs, “Because I actually like going to them. She only makes you go to torture you.”

With those words of enlightenment, Steve grabs his bag and heaves the car door shut. Bucky swears at Natasha for dragging him to all those performances on purpose. He waits for Steve to make it into the house and wave goodbye before leaving for Pierce’s house. He supposed it was _technically_ his house as well, but Pierce made it pretty clear that he was only a guest-- a very unwelcome one. In fact, the only reason Pierce had been signed up as a foster parent was because of his wife, Declana, who had a soft spot for children, but was unable to have any of her own. Unfortunately, Declana died in a car crash. As Bucky was constantly reminded, if they had never decided to house those “god-forsaken bastards”, she would still be alive. Pierce’s wife was on the way to pick up Bucky from the airport when a 16-wheeler hit her head on.  
Bucky sighs as he turns into the parking garage underneath the crummy apartment complex. He parks slowly, not wanting to go upstairs, but knowing there would be hell to pay if he was late for his appointment. Eventually, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and clambers out of his jeep.  
He opts for the stairs rather than brave the sketchy looking elevator that made rather suspicious rattling noises on the way up. The stairwell was poorly lit, and all Bucky could do was wonder who on earth decided that this was a ~~great~~ okay place for a foster kid. He walked up the two flights of stairs onto the second story section of apartments. Bucky walked down the corridor until he found the corner where #421 was located. He ignored the potheads smoking in the room next to him with the door wide open. It was a bit cliché--using room 420 for a druggie safehouse.  
Bucky unlocks his own door, rolling his eyes, wondering how his social worker could overlook something like this. But, when budget cuts are made and where foster parent shortages are considered, it’s amazing how much is thrown out the window and ignored.  
The faint smell of perfume permeates the room and Bucky knows he’s late.  
He swears quietly, turning to his left to throw his backpack in his bedroom, and walks down the hall into the living room. Ms. Smoak is already sitting down with her clipboard of questions and pen in hand. Pierce is sitting across from her on the couch, an ugly fake smile on his face.  
“James! We were wondering where you were!” Pierce says, his eyes staring daggers at Bucky, but his smile never wavered.  
“Oh, I was…” Bucky’s mind frantically scrambles for an acceptable excuse.  
He doesn’t want to bring up Steve and get him involved in any way, and if he said he was talking with a teacher, the issue of grades couldn’t be ignored or avoided.  
“I was… helping put away the P.E. gear,” Bucky finally says, “Mr. Clark asked for some help and I thought I would be able to come back home in time.”  
Bucky practically has to spit out the word “home” from his mouth, but he knows that if he uses it, Ms. Smoakes will be more lenient if he messes up anything. As much as he hates Pierce, he knows that there are far worse foster homes--at least he knows how to deal with Pierce. A transfer meant learning a whole new set of triggers with unknown consequences. Better the devil he knew.  
The meeting was stressful and just as horrible as Bucky expected it to be. He almost slipped up a few times, but managed to save himself just in time. Pierce pretended to be as gracious and caring as a normal parent whenever Ms. Smoakes was here, but Bucky tended to screw up his role of well-adjusted teenager.  
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only about an hour or so, Ms. Smoakes finally makes her exit.

◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈

“Aллилуйя,” Bucky mutters as soon as the door is closed.  
Pierce looks sharply at him. He yanks Bucky’s ear, dragging him down the hall into his bedroom. Pierce throws him through the doorway, ignoring the yelp of pain from James. Pierce picks Bucky up from where he fell to the ground. He holds him by the shoulders and leans in close.  
“What have we said about talking in that god-forsaken language?”  
James flinches when he feels his foster parent’s hot breath on his cheek. Bucky ducks his head, shrugging noncommittally. Pierce grabs Bucky’s face with his hand, forcing Bucky to look him in the eye.  
“I asked you a question.”  
When Pierce receives no answer, he tightens his grip around the young man’s throat. In a split second, Bucky grabs Pierce’s free wrist and uses his other arm to hit at the other man’s arm. Pierce lets out a cry of pain and releases Bucky. Bucky sprints around Alexander and out the doorway, kicking Pierce in the shins on the way out. Breathing hurts, the air going through his mouth is scratching the lining of his bruising throat. He’s halfway out the front door when Pierce’s voice stops him dead.  
“A Russian foster teen with a history of violence beats his foster parent in their home.”  
Bucky knows he should run and stop listening, but Pierce’s words keep him from moving.  
“You really think you can just run away? When I catch you, who do you think they’re going to charge for assault?”  
Bucky has no doubt in his mind who would be sent to prison if this...incident ever goes to court. That doesn’t stop him from taking a hesitant step out the door. The dark corridor outside and life on the streets is just as off-putting as the life back inside with Alexander Goodwin Pierce.  
Pierce continues, “I’d stop where you are, boy, and come back inside. You won’t last a second out there.”  
Bucky closes his eyes, hating himself even more with every second of indecision. He feels like screaming as he turns around and heads back into apartment #412.  
◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ 

Just when James feels like the craziness of the day has finally calmed down, Steve calls him.  
“I thought you were gonna stop by tonight?” Steve tries unsuccessfully to cover up his disappointment.  
Bucky can picture Steve biting his lips, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal. If anything could’ve made Barnes feel worse, this was it. He squeezes his eyes tight and clenches his hands into fists. His finger nails bite into the flesh of his palm. Hard. Finally he responds, “Yeah, sorry about that. The meeting with Smoakes took a little longer than I thought it would.”  
Never in his life would he admit that the real reason was because of the ice pack he was transferring between his abdomen, shoulders, and shins. After coming back inside, Pierce had taught him a lesson he wouldn’t be forgetting. Every time Bucky tried to fight back, Pierce would remind him that no one would believe it was in self-defense.  
“S’okay,” Steve mutters shyly.  
Bucky hits his thigh, groaning silently.  
“No it isn’t Stevie. Sorry ‘bout this again.”  
“Okay,” Steve repeats, “See you tomorrow.”  
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”  
Bucky waits for Steve to hang up before ending the call. He falls back onto his bed, wincing as pressure is put on some of the bruises on his back. He absentmindedly runs his hand over his neck, lightly tracing over the four dark blue spots.  
_Turtlenecks are going to be the only thing in my wardrobe for about the next three week_ Bucky thinks dryly. _Could be worst; at least it’s February. It could’ve been in June…_ that _definitely would’ve been hot._


End file.
